


Just Because I Left (Doesn't Mean I'm Not Still There)

by vigilantellie



Series: I Know You’re Strong Enough [2]
Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: And a little bit of, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mother-Son Relationship, POV Second Person, Persephone meets Zagreus for the first time, Persephone pov, Slight Hades/Persephone, Stream of Consciousness, also, and we all know how that ends uh oh, but nothing outside of canon, hi this is sad, please note that I have only met persephone twice but i had to write this, since there IS assumed character death and ACTUAL character death, slight discussions of grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28737888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vigilantellie/pseuds/vigilantellie
Summary: This boy was so familiar.You asked him his name, and when he said it, the crack in your chest splintered.Zagreus. Zagreus was dead. You had watched him die.***Persephone meets her son for the first time.
Relationships: Persephone & Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Series: I Know You’re Strong Enough [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2106870
Comments: 6
Kudos: 80





	Just Because I Left (Doesn't Mean I'm Not Still There)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Hades by Supergiant Games is a tragedy and you cannot change my mind  
> Anyway, this is the second part of "I Know You're Strong Enough"--please check out part one, it's super good and made me sad

You were well acquainted with grief, and with the stinging loneliness that follows it. 

At first you ran from it--you had no other choice. And now you sit with it, every day. 

Every day you water your crops, live in a place surrounded by life, the only place of its kind in miles, but yet, your mind is haunted by death. 

By the man who rules over them with a sturdy hand, by the dead boy you held in your arms, his body so, so still. 

They had told you, they all had told you--no child could be born in the underworld. It was no place for a life to begin, and there was no room for a new god to be found within the House of Hades. 

Your husband had been cold to you that day, one of the few times you could remember him doing so. He was cold to you when you first met, too, but that had drawn you in, back then. You had only ever known warmth. 

Now you are painfully aware of the cold, but not the kind that rages outside--the cold lives within you. It lived within the man you fell in love with besides your best intentions, in his hands that had held you, in the hands of your son that never wrapped around your finger like they should have. 

So you ran. You ran and found desolate, snowy wastelands beyond the River Styx. You had fought your way out as your husband had raged. 

You know your leaving ruined him, but you were ruined, too. And, oh, how misery loves company. 

You sat and screamed, digging your nails into your hands until they bled as the snow fell and covered you, until you felt like mortals do, freezing and exhausted, grieving your short time with your son, grieving the life you wanted but could never have. You never belonged there, anyway--you were a child of the sun, Hades a son of the moon, ruler of ghosts and broken things. And you were meant to create--isn’t that what you tried to do?

But creation and destruction cancel each other out, in the end. 

Where you were, the Underworld wouldn’t find you, nor would Olympus. You didn’t think about why the surface was so cold--it seemed fitting, at the time, even though the snow began to melt as soon as you stepped foot upon it. Something you hadn’t seen in a long, long time. 

It made you scream, as flowers began to grow at your feet. 

They kept growing, and you moved on. Your son was dead, your husband was lost, and no place as low as Tartarus or as high as Olympus could keep you, could let you belong. The earth, though, took you in with open arms, singing songs of comfort and love. And with each sunrise, you began to heal. 

Though you are intimate with the cold, with grief and loneliness, you have also known love and warmth beyond the experiences of any other gods, of any other living or dead. 

And so you made your peace, until a stranger stumbled to your cottage. 

He was bruised and beaten, his chest heaving with exhaustion. You called to him--no one should be out this far, not looking like that.

You knew how to be strong and kind--your kindness _was_ your strength.

When the stranger looked up at you, the cold within you stirred. There was something in his eyes, a look of shock and elation and deep, deep moving _love_ , it threw you off your balance, made you take a step back. 

Everything about him was familiar, and everything within you seemed drawn to him. He looked so _young_ , and alone, and so, so tired. 

He knew your name. Hearing it spoken aloud made something in your chest crack--you hadn’t heard it spoken with such reverence since Hades had spoken it, holding you with such gentleness that you had to beg him to be rough, convince him you wouldn’t break. 

This boy was so familiar. 

You asked him his name, and when he said it, the crack in your chest _splintered._

 _Zagreus._ Zagreus was dead. You had watched him die. 

And for a moment you felt the rage and power you had had as queen of the Underworld, felt deep anger and resentment seep into your voice. Zagreus is _dead._

The boy’s face contorts. He’s alive, he says, he’s alive, he’s alive and he didn’t know about you but he’s _alive_ … and suddenly the famiarities begin to make sense. 

He’s wearing a wreath that used to adorn your own head, wearing a tunic that is as blood red as the Styx, a skull sitting upon his shoulder that reminds you of the lovable guard dog of the Underworld. His eyes look into yours imploringly, one that is red like death, red like the eyes that had looked at you with adoration, with fear and respect, and one blue-green like life, one blue-green like your _own_. 

His feet were not ashen, a fire put out too soon. They were burning and burning with so much life, slightly scorching the grass underneath them.

He takes a step towards you. 

_Zagreus._ You say his name and it fits comfortably in your mouth, as it had always been meant to. A name you were supposed to sing, to scream, to laugh, to cry. And this boy responds to it, stands at attention, everything in him on edge, waiting for you to see, to _realize._ This boy had never been called anything else. 

This boy was your dead son wading out of the River Styx back into your arms. 

And it all comes crashing down onto you at once, tears crashing to the ground as you run to him, as he runs to _you._

 _Zagreus. Zagreus._ You repeat his name over and over, as if repeating it will make him stay and not disappear with the wind, will make him real and solid, not an illusion from a bored Olympian out for entertainment. Zagreus was alive, with the name you had given him, and he was _responding to it_ , and for the first time in your very long life, you hear him cry out for you, the cries you never were able to hear when he was an infant, when he was a child or an adolescent. But he’s here now, he fought to find you, and it is so clear that he loves you. And you love him too, more than he could possibly know. 

He tells you about his long journey to meet you, the chains Hades had tried to keep him in. You are angry, so, so angry; you want to march straight back down to the Underworld and force Hades to his knees, make him explain himself. _No one_ treats _your_ son so callously. But you know you cannot return there, and you want to be here with Zagreus, with your son. 

Your husband has a message for you, telling you that Cerberus is doing well. You had always loved Cerberus, and you had missed him the most when you left. But he was alright too, they were all alright, and your (ex?) husband wants you to know. 

Hades still knows what you would want to hear, after all this time. 

You laugh, because although you are angry, although you are so overwhelmed, the irony is too much, and your joy is just as uncontainable as your sadness and rage. 

You smile and look to your son, but your smile falters.

His breathing is heavier, each breath a struggle. He’s bent over in pain, coughs wracking his frame. 

And for the second time that day you have a realization, one that stops your breath and has your heart fall to the floor. 

Hades cannot leave the Underworld; it is his lot in life. He had said so himself, long, long ago in the dark, secret safety of the night, only to you. Only ever to you. 

And now, watching your son try to blame the _cold_ for his suffering, you know that it is his curse as well, to be trapped in that infernal house. To live only with the dead. 

He isn’t listening to you as you begin to break the news to him--you cannot let him live under the impression that he will be able to stay here without suffering. You cannot stand to see him in pain, not like this. For a moment, you feel guilty, as if you brought this upon him yourself. But there isn’t time for that. There is so little time. 

When you speak to him, he’s distracted, his eyes skittish and wide, his breathing ragged. He coughs and blood splatters, a shockingly beautiful color of red. The sight is haunting. 

You place a hand onto his cheek, softly, and cold seeps into your very bones. He’s freezing, already the temperature of the dead. You choke silently; it’s all too similar to the night of his birth, watching his feet sputter out, feeling the warmth leave his body until it is just cold, cold, cold. 

It’s happening again. You’re losing him again. 

You grab one of his hands and hold it tightly, the hand on his cheek guiding his gaze back to you. 

You want to beg him to stay, the hold on his hand so tight that maybe it will keep him here, on the surface with you. 

You’ll fight against the current of the Styx yourself if it keeps your son at your side. 

Instead, what comes out your mouth is this: _Come back to me._ You cannot lose him again, yet you cannot bear for him to fight with tooth and nail to return to you. 

You are tired of seeing your son in pain, knowing your son is suffering somewhere you cannot reach him.

When Zagreus speaks again, his voice is quiet, desperate. He’s clinging to your hand, to your wrists. 

He does not want to leave, either. 

He says that maybe Hades will just let him leave, now that he’s found you. Now that there is no secret to keep. 

But you know better. Hades will never let Zagreus go, not when he hadn’t bothered to inform you of his existence at all. Not when he treated Zagreus like one of the many shades in the house instead of his own son, instead of his only memory of you, the life you two had had, had wanted.

A sting of guilt mixes in with your grief--was it you? Was he taking out his anger at you on your son? 

No. No, you cannot be blamed for his actions. He should know better. He _does_ know better.

And so you tell your dying son to tell his father that you _demand_ Hades let him go. That he let _your son_ return to you. 

If Hades bothered to tell you about Cerberus, then maybe he will do this. Maybe he will do this, for you. If he still cares. 

If he still has a heart to care with. 

Zagreus sputters again; he can hardly keep his eyes open. 

He had been pretending he had been fine for so long, hadn’t he? So much like his father. 

So much like you. 

But finally, he admits it: _I feel awful._ And you knew that, but to hear it still hurts. 

You’re holding back tears as you hear the River Styx rushing for him, as you hear his breathing stop. 

_Return to me,_ you beg, as you card your fingers through his hair, as you try to memorize what his hand feels like in yours, already the sound of his voice fading from memory, the shape of his smile. _Return to me._

He is no longer in your arms, and you let out a stifled sob. _Return to me. Please._

Because you will be waiting, no matter how long it takes for him to come home. 

And suddenly there is no time to cry. You wipe your tears and stand; there’s work to be done. 

You have to prepare for Zagreus’ second arrival. 

Because you _will_ be ready. 

_However long it takes._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to see any kudos or comments, or come yell at me about this game on tumblr under the same handle, I have lots of emotions lol. Okay thanks again have a great day <3


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